Notes To Be Taken
by Telescoping
Summary: Months pass in an undying cycle of simmering heat and icy chills, and days are slashed out on the fraying calendar stapled to the wall. Notes are taken. [january, note i: away with the fairies]
1. hit-and-run

**For the OTP and OT3 Boot Camp Challenge (Anime and Manga Fanfiction Challenges)**

**prompt 3: bus**

* * *

He's the bus and I'm the terrified pedestrian who gets run over.

Blunt? Kinda. Maybe.

Yeah.

But it's true. N does that to people. A lot.

**[a metaphorical Touko White]**

. . .

Popped corn cascaded out of cheap bags (oily, greasy things) and were stamped out underfoot in a matter of seconds. Slivers of spun candy rode the wind and clung to sticky skin and plastered themselves onto damp hair. A crescent of something cold and white hung in the sky. People were everywhere: on the streets, the rides, the imposing wheel.

This was the Amusement Park in Nimbassa City—the city that never quite went to sleep.

Touko wandered the street, knowing exactly where she was, but feeling lost. Cheren and Bianca were quickly lost in the crowds: the blonde shimmying in the direction of strutting gym leader Elisa and Cheren wrinkling his nose with a placid disgust, edging toward the exit.

She threw a coin at a vender, and in return she received a cup of caramelized pechaberries. Popping them into her mouth one by one, Touko ghosted the park, watching children twirl through rides and game stalls and teenagers clinging to each others arms or grouping themselves into boisterous cliques. Melted sugar stuck into small crevices of her teeth, and Touko frowned, her tongue scrounging at her molars.

She was in the very back of park when Touko somehow gained company.

"Can you help me?"

Touko frowned, and stared at the small mountain of winking coins clinking in the center of his palm to his face (angled and sculpted porcelain, almost regal). Her attention was then drawn to his hand limply holding a caramel apple aloft. The fruit's golden surface was smooth and unridden with scars, and speckled with something dark in absurdly perfect diamond-shaped formations.

He couldn't be asking…

"With what?" Touko said sharply. The brunette didn't have much tolerance for those handsy Nimbassa hoodlums, though this one appeared to be her age and at least dressed appropriately…

"I need help with ah…" He forlornly waved the apple.

"Sorry, but I don't understand this waving business. You've got to spell it out for me."

"Argh…this is so _embarrassing_…"

Touko raised an eyebrow.

Pallets of red bloomed on his cheeks. "Oh, all right…" After a complementary pause, he said, "I was just wondering…if you properly know how to eat…_this_."

"You need help eating a caramel apple?" she blurted out. Touko blinked owlishly, wondering distantly if this was some sort of joke.

"The proportions of this thing is—" he gestured haplessly at the fruit, "—_huge_. Usually I would ask Concordia or Anthea…but they recently took to a well-needed holiday."

"I…see." Touko tried to say this calmly, but a snort might've escaped.

"So…is that a yes?" He looked so hopeful and eager—Touko knew just then that he was just a _child_, despite his age—with the way his chartreuse hair was styled under that baseball cap and how his eyes shone.

Touko rolled her shoulders and absentmindedly grazed her fingers on her entire team of pokemon. "All right," she said finally. Maybe this "tutoring" would provide her with decent entertainment for the night. "I'll teach you."

* * *

His name was N, Touko learned. A strange name—it only compromised of a _letter_—but Touko found him all right anyways.

To a certain degree.

"Your face." Touko handed him a napkin she managed to produce from her pocket, the flapping paper creased and ripped.

"Ohh…thanks." He stared at it for a moment, but embarrassment won out. N flushed and dabbed at the corner of his mouth.

Touko's lips quirked. "Other side."

The caramel didn't come off, but rather produced an annoying residue, even when N helplessly scrubbed at his face. Strings of spun sugar clung to his face, the napkin, his hands. "What is this," N grumbled, peeved.

"Caramel on your face."

"You're sure helpful."

Touko snorted, bunching her hands into the pockets of her shorts. "Go wash it off," she finally advised, slouching into the bench. The metal was cold against her back, her partially bare arms and legs.

"With what?"

"Oh…hm, _I don't know_! How about water?"

"In the _Amusement Park's_ lavatory?" N looked scandalized.

"Where else? In the bushes?"

"It's filthy in there. I can't just waltz in there and—"

Touko shook her head, disbelievingly. "Boy…you're worse than a girl."

For the first time that night—even through facepalms and agitated snorts—N looked angry. It caught Touko off guard. "Are you insinuating that you're superior to me?!"

"_Huh_?"

"Because do you know who you're talking to? I'm—"As abruptly as he began, N suddenly ceased his childish tirade. He glowered at her. Touko hadn't noticed how tall he was until then. Even though they were on equal ground, N simply towered a head over her.

"Because you're who?" Touko said. She wasn't exactly curious; Touko just didn't know what to say, and saying that felt justified and right.

"Nothing!" N inhaled sharply. "Nothing at all!" He rigidly adjusted the brim of his cap so that it shadowed his eyes. N grimly nodded. "I wish you a satisfactory night, peasant."

"What…?" Gaping after his retreating back, Touko suddenly felt very glad she hadn't foolishly tossed out her name. Because if she happened to encounter N again—which wasn't so far off with her traveling everywhere—Touko would pretend she didn't know who the _hell_ he was.

. . .

**[****de****cember: f****r****aternizing with green-haired weirdoes are a no-no]**

. . .

* * *

maybe you believe that N and Touko are a bit OOC? well think about it like this: they're going to go through some major character development.

fyi, IATW is not going to be a chapter-by-chapter story. more likely a series of connected/unconnected oneshots/drabbles. however, there will be a plot... just a note out there.

some history: I was originally intending this to be a drabble... but nowww... 50 prompts, 50 chaps...!_** I CAN DO THIS**_!

DLB will be updated once I hit winter break. (in...a week?!) :'D


	2. kings and mirrors

**prompt 14: defective **

* * *

Defective ideologies. Imbecile league system.

_Foolish _Unova_. _

It's coming, you see. And you won't be able to stop _me_.

**[a glimpse into the looking glass]**

. . .

"Pokemon are the very foundation of our current society. A mass Pokemon Liberation would never work," Cheren informs stoutly, index finger nudging the bridge of his glasses upwards. The glass catches rays of sunlight, and Touko averts her eyes. "Moreover, the entire region is packed to the brim with pokemon trainers. It's irrational to think that one person and a handful of goons could severe the bond between humans and pokemon."

Touko's jaws creaks and she funnels a hand over her mouth, lethargic and disinterested. She knows that look on Cheren's face. It's the one he uses when he wants to appear smart. The townspeople are slightly disturbed Touko can see, by their uneasy murmuring and how everyone returns their pokemon into their respective pokeballs. Cheren's words comforts some, thus dispersing the crowd, but Bianca remains antsy.

"What do _you_ think about all this, Touko?" she squeaks, hands clutching the loop of her olive-green shoulder bag so hard that the blonde's knuckles turn white.

"_Well_..." Touko drawls, "I think that Ghetbull, whatever his name is, is full of bouffalant poop."

"Eloquently said, Touko," Cheren says, smirking.

"Hah. Thanks."

"No, really," Bianca persists, eyes wide and pleading. "Team Plasma just...makes my stomach feel funny!"

"Eh, just don't barf all over me."

"_Not helpful_, Cheren." She turns to Bianca. "Don't worry about it. As if _I_ would let something like that happen." Touko sighs, as if exasperated. She beams; they have plans to visit the seaside before their attentions were diverted to that ridiculous sage. "So...how about we now head to the beach?"

"It's _December_; it's the wrong time to go swimming," Cheren says as the trio wheel off toward the roaring of a tumultuous expansion of water.

"Oh, c'mon, stop being such a spoil-sport."

"Yeah, _Cher-en_. Or maybe it's because you don't want to show off your lack of abs," Touko teases.

Bianca laughs and Cheren rolls his eyes, just like how Touko knew they would.

* * *

Touko doesn't end up going swimming.

She takes one look at the thrashing waves, the sudden, looming appearance of billowing clouds of gray, and knows that playing in the waters is out of the question. They sprint across the great lengths of sand, though, dip their feet into tide pools, all the while watching small fish skirt between their toes. Well, with the exception of Cheren; he immediately retreats to the outskirts of the beach when he sees the clouds, feels the harsh, blustering winds that promise a storm.

Now, Touko is alone. Cheren and Bianca left for the Pokemon Center about ten minutes prior; she had told them that she would follow them shortly. Bianca voiced her worried opinions, but Cheren didn't. Cheren is logical and rational like that; Bianca just tends to be a bit of a worry-wart.

Touko cracks open an eyelid. Something feels different. The wind isn't tackling her body head-on, but rather skirting around it. A distorted image of a green-haired youth registers. The sand is cool under her back, and small gravely particles fold themselves into Touko's clothes and hair.

"You don't seem very worried," he remarks, face serene and unexpected. At first, Touko thinks he's talking about the weather, but he then clarifies with, "About the Pokemon Liberation."

_Girintina below, Arceus above, what in Mew's name is _he_ doing here?_

"And who are you?" Her predicament is unfortunate, but despairing is out of the question. Touko pulls down the brim of her cap with a bothersome hand.

He persists. "Are introductions in order? I believe so, because you know _my_ name, but I actually never caught yours."

"Bull shit. I don't know who the hell you are." Touko averts eye contact a little too fast.

"So you do remember me!"

"…Who are you again?"

"Stop pretending you don't know who I am. I know you know!"

"Heh—how _do_ you know?"

"Fair point." A pause. "I'm N. Again." He's sitting next to her, legs crossed. This surprises her. Before, he wouldn't (more like couldn't) make use of a public restroom! Touko resists the urge to make a jib.

"I'm Arceus, the Creator, the great and powerful, blah blah blah. Ahem, so bow down before me. Now."

"No, really."

"Oops. Slip of the tongue. I meant to say I'm the king of spades."

"Slip of the tongue? King of spades and Arceus have no word correlation, whatsoever. Besides, you can't be a king. You're female." N says this all as if he was accusing her of some grand crime.

"Are you always this annoying?" Touko rolls over. "And this sexist?" She presses her cheek against the sand. "I can be a king if I want to."

"Hah. You can't."

"And why not?" Touko says, wondering what he will say next.

"Because you're..._lacking_."

"Lacking…"

"You're lacking almost everything an honorable king needs. You're foulmouthed—"

"—Look who's talking, weirdo," Touko says, without passion. "You speak like an old guy. Like a really old guy. And how _old_ are you, anyways? Sixteen, I bet? Seventeen?"

"—reckless, wild, sarcastic, and your manners are just atrocious...if you have _any..._" N them off one by one, with accordance to his fingers that pop up from a clenched fist.

Touko rolls her eyes and turns her attention to the weather. The tide pools has long disappeared under the wayward, watery limbs of the sea. N's voice fades into the background.

"...and besides, you'll need a queen," N concludes smartly and Touko jolts into reality. By then, he has run out of fingers. N seems indifferent to the weather, and tails Touko as she dusts the sand off her clothes and watches as she attempts to clamber onto the sandy boardwalk. The disintegrated rock under her palms is damp from the sea sprays.

"I will most certainly not. I'm perfectly straight, thank you very much." The grains sting the flat of her hands as Touko begins to push herself up. After about several failed attempts, she squeaks (how embarrassing). Foreign hands wordlessly place themselves on the curve of her hips and deposits a slightly flustered Touko White on the edge of the boardwalk.

"Exactly." N looks satisfied for more reasons than one. He vaults onto the boardwalk in an easy, practiced movement. _Curse that height_. Touko contemplates slapping that (cocky, arrogant, _intolerable_) expression off his face, but decides to brush away his offered outstretched hand instead.

She begins to walk away, bare feet slapping imprints into the sand. It's more than likely that Bianca and Cheren are on their way now, due to the blonde's insistence. If Touko walks fast enough, she can lose N and intercept her friends at the same time.

"It's rude to walk away from a conversation!" he yells at her back. Touko imagines him to be smirking, the curve of his lips taunting.

"You managed it perfectly well last time," is her retort, and she mentally slaps herself as the words leave her mouth.

_Damn it. _

"Aha!" N is a lot of things, but he's not a fool. "I knew it! I knew it you remembered me!"

"And if I did?" Touko leaves the question hanging in the air. She then realizes that there's really nothing to prove. Hm. Interesting. Let's see how he responds to _that_.

N's left silent.

"Yeah. Thought so." Touko can't help but smirk. Her mouth moves beyond her control, and she deals the final blow, feeling (with strangeness) guilty at the same time.

"And by the way, my hypothetical kingship? It's perfectly dandy without your _damn_ interference!"

. . .

**[december, note II: oh, really... so you want to be king, huh?]**

. . .

* * *

buhaha. I adore touko and n. heartheartheart. oh..and carnivals and beaches in december? ahahaha, unova's not sinnoh...so let's leave it like that, shall we? :)


	3. champion touko

**prompt 32: neon**

* * *

"Wake up! Wake up!"

She screams, manhandles his shoulders, shaking him for what it feels like eternity.

He sleeps on.

**[since birth, this is Natural Harmonia]**

. . .

I do facts. They're the epitome of clarity. Like history: it either happens or it doesn't, and there is no ambiguous third option.

I'm clear-cut, and I'll say this without any loose ends and wishy-washy wording:

_Zorua and I...lost_.

Zorua is at my feet, battered and whimpering. Our bond has never failed us before. We don't train. We don't battle for the sake of leveling up. Never did, and Zorua and I agreed that we never will. (It doesn't occur to me until today that Zorua may be a bit arrogant.) I have a justified reasoning, and it is that pokemon battling is an inhumane sport that only the sinful and ignorant undertake.

I don't like mixed feelings; I don't like confusion.

I loathe paradoxes, if such exists.

I've only felt the aforementioned emotions twice.

The first almost doesn't count. I'm on a beach, waves threading between my toes, sticky sand clinging to my feet. A nameless girl is beside me, and she's cruel. It's utterly lubricious, because I want to run away and gain her approval at the same time. Because what's so special about _her_, anyhow?

The second time is today, in a blind battle under the city-wide stretch of the streets, where Zorua—and our indisputable bond—has lost against another.

This shouldn't be happening. It _can't_ be happening.

But it is. The event folds to with all the neatness and perfection of Concordia folding the laundry. The scoreboard overhead is clear. There are six bulbs that bullet the board in a succession on both sides. On the left—my own—Zorua's bulb dims to a frustrating black.

One after another, my friends fall. The lights are snuffed out.

It's over in less than a minute; I'm sorry to report that more of the minute is used to transition between pokemon. My attacks never connect. My defenses are as good as paper against Reuniclus's devastating, as while frighteningly precise Thunder attacks. In fact, my opponent uses nothing but the aforementioned. Reuniclus's remaining moveset is a mystery, as while my opponent's team, with the exception of Reuniclus, of course.

The subway doors slam open, and spits me out onto the curb. It whirls away- wheels hard against the rails- its only trace being the stirred up wind that nips at the tail of my coat

Then I see it, words neon and yellow and emblazoned against the dark jumbo screen. It flashes once. Twice. I blink. The letters chase themselves round and round the board, almost mimicking of how a purrlion chases its tail.

UNDEFEATED CHAMPION OF THE BATTLE SUBWAY: TOUKO WHITE

The curtains have drawn on Alder's stage; (it is well-known that Alder enjoys taking the Battle Subway challenge, and the more battles you win consecutively, the more chance you have going up against the champion) he is the face of Unova's champion, but it is really this Touko White. N has an idea how this happened: When a challenger- too young to take the championship title- overcomes the current strongest trainer in Unova, they battle in secret or the outcome is smoothed over. When the challenger reaches the age of eighteen, they pit their pokemon against each other in public, and as predicted, the latter takes the title. This fact is not known to the general public, but it's true.

No one wants a mere child leading Unova's political affairs.

Anyways, I know it is her who I battled. I've faced Touko White, and I have lost.

I stand up and dust the filth from my trousers. Another variable has entered the equation, unknown and formidable: Touko White.

Father must be informed, N can't help but think, and he's gone in a whirlwind.

. . .

**[january, note i: away with the fairies]**

. . .

* * *

hello, hello! lets sing happy birthday to Mr. King and celebrate for all he's done! :D

sorry, sorry, no n/touko direct interaction here, but oh well, when they meet next time...ooooohhh.

drop a review if you have time and see you next time! :)


End file.
